


Parallel Worlds

by queenfanfiction



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: M/M, SOWSO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenfanfiction/pseuds/queenfanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moment was all it took to change the course of history forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallel Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit JESUS: jones6 (whose AO3 name I simply cannot type with a straight face :p) kicked this into shape and was the best cheerleader one could ever hope for. <3

It was exactly as Stephen had read in his sci-fi books: one moment was all it took to change the course of history forever.

As to exactly _which_ moment...well, the books were never very clear about that.

* *

"Finally!" Jon whoops, spinning his chair wildly. "We are _done_! This calls for a celebration!"

Stephen smiles as he shuffles their papers in order and stands. "Drinks on me tonight, yeah?"

"If you insist, good sir, I won't stop you."

Stephen laughs, then flips his pen towards the _Daily Show_ mug where the rest of its mates are. It clangs against the cup's rim, teetering precariously on the edge before—

* *

 _In one world_

—the pen topples into the cup.

"Nice shot," Jon says, already struggling into his coat.

Stephen shrugs. "Just got lucky, I guess."

As they file out of Jon's office, Stephen glances back at the clock before Jon shuts off the light. The LCD display reads 10:32.

* *

 _In another_

—the pen wobbles before clattering outside the mug, rolling across the table and dropping off the edge into the wastebasket on the other side.

"Wow." Jon, halfway into his coat, ducks down to search for the rogue pen in the trash. "Nice shot."

Stephen shrugs. "Can't always get lucky, can you?"

As they file out of Jon's office, Stephen glances back at the clock before Jon shuts off the light. The LCD display flickers to 10:33.

* *

 _In both worlds_

They step outside the building and simultaneously curse at the biting cold wind that slaps them in the face.

"God _dammit,_ " Stephen mutters, pulling his coat tighter around him as they walk down the street towards their drinking destination. "If I see Al Gore ever again, I'll tell him where to stuff his idea of global warming."

"I'll tell him for you tomorrow, if you want." Jon rubs his hands together and blows on them in a vain attempt to warm his fingers. "The faster we get where we're going, the sooner we'll be warm. Race you?"

Stephen smirks. "Only if you can keep up, _old man._ "

"Hey!" And with that, the two men are running down the empty street, shouting and laughing as they hurtle through the cold night air.

Stephen skids to a halt at the next intersection, checks for traffic, and continues running when he sees nothing coming. Jon, not ten feet behind him, doesn't even stop to check—

—until he slips, stumbles, and slides across the icy asphalt on his stomach.

* *

 _In one world_

Stephen stops at the curb, ready to run back and help Jon up, but Jon is already pushing himself off the ground. "You good?" Stephen calls as Jon scrambles to his feet.

"M'fine! Just bruised!" Jon limps a little as he catches up to Stephen. "Come on, I hear a drink with my name on it calling for me."

As they walk away, with Stephen's arm slung over Jon's shoulder, a silver sedan squeals around the corner and whizzes past them.

* *

 _In another_

Stephen stops at the curb, ready to run back and help Jon up, but Jon is already pushing himself off the ground. "You good?" Stephen calls as Jon scrambles to his feet.

"M'fine! Just bru—"

A car, a silver sedan, squeals around the corner as Jon starts to limp out of the street. It doesn't even have time to hit the brakes before it strikes Jon, who manages to turn his head towards the source of the noise in the moment before he's hit.

* *

 _In one_

Stephen is momentarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting when Jon throws open the door to the bar, and momentarily deafened by the coarse shouting of the bar's patrons as the baseball game plays out on TV. Once his head clears, he finds himself already moving towards the nearest empty booth near the door, nearly squashed by several drunk patrons wobbling past (for God's sake, why are there so many _people_ here), and throwing himself at his target.

Jon drops into the empty seat across from Stephen. "More people here than I'd thought," he says, just as a roar goes up from the bar. "We could always go somewhere else..."

"No, it's fine." Stephen waves at the nearest waitress. "Someone, anyone? We could use a little help over here!"

* *

 _In another_

Stephen is momentarily blinded by the sudden flash of light when the car's headlights pass over him, and momentarily deafened by the shriek of an engine shifting gears mid-stride as the car speeds off into the night. Once his head clears, he finds himself already moving toward Jon's body, sprawled at an odd angle across the gutter (oh God, why is there so much _blood_ ), and throwing himself at his target.

Jon's eyes flutter open as Stephen tries to check for broken bones. "Hurts—more than I thought," he gasps, just as a wailing of sirens erupts from a distant street. "Am I—Stephen, am I gonna die?"

"No! You'll be fine!" Stephen looks around frantically, but the car that hit Jon is long gone. "Someone, anyone! We need help! _Please!_ "

* *

 _In one_

The waitress has just given them their third round when Jon, to Stephen's surprise, reaches across the table and takes Stephen's hand. "Have I ever told you," he says, so quietly that Stephen has to lean closer to hear him, "what a good friend you are?"

"Jon, what are you talking—"

Jon's lips twitch into a faint smile, a flash of white against the dark shadows of his face. "But have you ever wanted—more than that?" he whispers, the words cracking. "Do you, Stephen? Do you want us to be— _more_?"

* *

 _In another_

The woman who answered Stephen's 9-1-1 call has just made her third promise to get him an ambulance stat when Jon, to Stephen's surprise, reaches up and takes Stephen's free hand. "Have I ever told you," he says, so quietly that Stephen has to lean down to hear him, "what a good—friend you are?"

"Jon, don't, save your strength—"

Jon's lips twitch into a faint smile, a flash of blood against the whiteness of his teeth. "But we could've been—so much more," he whispers, the words hitching. "Couldn't we, Stephen? Couldn't—we have—been more?"

* *

 _In every possible world_

As an improv comedian, Stephen has a knack for living his life by instinct, by watching and waiting for the right moment until he seizes it and runs like hell.

His instincts are screaming for him to grab Jon _right now_ and kiss the living daylights out of him, and he obeys.

Jon kisses back, passionately, desperately, hands scrabbling at Stephen's collar and pulling him closer. When they finally separate, both of them gasping for air, Stephen rests his forehead against Jon's.

"I love you," says Stephen, meaning every word.

"I know," Jon breathes. "I know."

* *

 _In one world_

They're lying together in bed and waiting for the dawn to arrive, with Stephen's extra blanket piled over Jon's body to keep out the chill. "Don't leave me," Jon mumbles into Stephen's warm shoulder.

"Never would." Stephen pulls Jon a little closer. "I'll be here as long as you want me to."

Jon doesn't answer, and it's a moment before Stephen realizes that Jon is asleep.

* *

 _In another_

They're lying together by the sidewalk and waiting for the ambulance to arrive, with Stephen's coat piled on Jon's body to ward off shock. "Stephen, I'm sorry," Jon mumbles into Stephen's warm sweater.

"Don't be sorry." Stephen pulls Jon a little closer. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

Jon doesn't answer, and it's a moment before Stephen realizes that Jon is—Jon is _gone._

* *

In both worlds, Stephen will wake up the next morning and wonder, whether out of idle curiosity or actual despairing desire, what would have happened had one thing gone just a little bit differently. If Stephen hadn't let Jon fall down in the street, if they hadn't agreed to race—if Stephen had been just a little more careful and hadn't thrown his stupid pen across the room.

But he'll never find out, because life is a rotten _bitch_ like that.


End file.
